The Return
by ginnyrules27
Summary: History repeats itself with Katniss and Peeta's children. However, this time the past victors must fight along side the current tributes. Can the Mellark family make it through the Games together and more importantly alive? SLASH is in the story.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

A/N: I OWN NOTHING! Honestly, I wonder what goes on with my brain sometimes. There are days where I just won't want to write, and then there are days where I keep coming up with new ideas for stories. This is also my first time trying Slash, so I'm a little worried about the quality.

I sighed as the bow snapped and the arrow soared through the squirrel's neck. My mother taught me how to hunt when I was eight, even though we never needed to scrounge for food for the rest of our lives. My mother is a Victor of the 74th Hunger Games—Katniss Mellark nee Everdeen, the Girl on Fire.

"Davis!" my little sister shouted from the house. The woods weren't that far away but I ran back to her. She knew not to disturb me when I was hunting; the only time she did that was when Dad cut himself severely in the bakery.

"What is it Christina?" I ask as I kick my boots off by the door. Not one person in District 12 thinks we're related, even my customers think we're dating. Christina is twelve, something which makes our parents very nervous. They were nervous on my twelfth birthday as well. She inherited our mother's height and eyes, while having our father's blonde hair grace her head.

"Shh!" Christina shushed me, and I roll my blue eyes. The same eyes which are the same shade as my father's, while I brush my long brown hair out of the way. Our parents are in the next room, and from what I can hear our father is comforting our mother. Mom never cries, which alerts me that this was the only reason Christina would call me out from the normalcy of the woods.

"We knew this would happen Peeta!" our mother shouts, causing both of us to jump. "The peace wasn't enough. Some genius decided that the Games needed to come back."

"There's a slim chance they'll get picked," our father states in his calming tone. The one that makes it hard to believe that he too is a Victor of the 74th Hunger Games. "Neither one of them signed up for tesserae after all. They don't even have it anymore, not after the rebellion eliminated most of the food supply in Eleven."

I look down at my threadbare socks. After a hard winter where so many children died from starvation, I noticed an official looking woman by the area that used to be the Hob. She was selling grain and oil in exchange for putting ones name into a bucket.

_"Such a good boy," she told me after I put my name down. I wasn't going to use it, but include it in my usual fare for my customers—free of charge of course. Nothing too bad could happen. Right? I was only eleven after all. _

"What if they are?" our mother continues to panic., bringing me back to reality. "Peeta, we were in the revolution! I was the Mockingjay for crying out loud. You _know_ Christina and Davis are going to be picked!"

"We will be too," our father points out. "We were victors and since Haymitch is currently indisposed we will be the mentors to the poor kids forced into the arena. At least we'll know our children's strengths and weaknesses, and be able to help them out."

I drop my bow and it crashes to the ground. I know now what they are talking about. The Hunger Games. Father and Mother never tell us about their time at the Games, or this Revolution Mother mentioned. In fact, it's never mentioned in school either. But everyone knows about the Games. It's hard not to. Twelve has only had three victors, until the Games ended without explanation.

"Does Snow have a relation in office or something?" our mother paces around the room—apparently not have heard my bow. "No one liked the Hunger Games except for those in the Capitol."

"We'll just have to wait until tomorrow and see," our father says, kissing our mother on the top of her head. "At least Gale's not here."

Gale. The one word that is taboo in our home, only mentioned if one really wanted to get our father upset. I was slightly surprised that he mentioned him.

"Why is that?" our mother raises an eyebrow. "You know he's in as much danger in Two as we are here in Twelve. What if one of his kids gets picked?"

While traveling between districts is still not allowed, letters are—and Mother has been exchanging letters with this Gale person ever since it was allowed. Well, scratch that. She did have a few weeks of protest, but gave in when she realized that she missed her old friend (according to her at least) too much.

"We'd best tell the kids," our father sighs and then stands up. I pulled Christina away from the door and grabbed my bow. We shouldn't have been eavesdropping.

"Davis?" Christina looks at me when we get outside. Despite being twelve, she's quite tall for her age—while I'm quite short for my age of sixteen. Actually, we're around the same size. "What are the Hunger Games?"

I pause, unsure how to answer that. My sister means the world to me, despite how much we bicker about things. I don't want her to worry about being picked—whenever that happens.

"I don't know," I tell her and then look at my watch. My buddy George was going to meet me in the woods for some more hunting. "Look Chrissie, I've got to go."

I run off before she can shout at me for the nickname and duck under the fence. It's never on, and sometimes I wonder why we even have it. It just seems like a waste. On my way back to the woods, I think about what I heard.

"Hey dude!" George calls down from his tree. George is my best friend and hunting buddy, not to mention pretty cute. Yeah, I swing the other way—not that my family knows though. I doubt they'd understand, and besides I don't want to have George know. His family got hit hard during that winter of starvation, and so I taught him how to hunt. That's all. He's two years younger than me, has a family who needs him—and I don't think he's gay either.

"Hey George!" I call back. George is handy with a bow but his real weapon of choice is a knife. He's a genius at throwing them and can hit a target with ease—despite being hunting for less time than I have.

"Did you hear?" George asks as he perches on the branch he was sitting on. "The Hunger Games are coming back."

I nod as I started climbing the tree. "Yeah. I heard."

George notices the look on my face and doesn't mention the games again for the whole trip. George is a bit of a gossip, hopeless when it comes to secrets, and hopelessly naïve but he's a good friend.

"Nice haul," I comment at the end of the hour. George managed to grab six squirrels and a duck while I've only got two squirrels. Guess the sight of my parents fighting affected me more than I thought. "Come on. We should sell these while they're fresh."

George hesitated for a minute and then looked at me. "Actually, I was wondering if I could keep this haul. Massie's sick and—"

"Say no more," I told him. Massie was his only sister who survived that winter, along with her twin brother Freddie. She was like a little sister to me almost—better than the one I had at any rate. "Go, tell Squirt I hope she feels better."

"You know she hates that nickname," George tells me.

"Which is why I call her that," I smirk. George playfully shoves me before running to his home in the Seam. Sighing, I pack up and hide my bow away in a dead tree. Technically, this is a time of peace (according to what I've been able to gather from my parents conversations) but we're still not allowed to have weapons on our side of the fence. I'm glad I didn't get caught when I brought my bow last time.

"How was hunting?" my mother asks as I walk in. Her eyes were red—a clear sign that she had been crying some more.

"Not that great," I said and laid the two squirrels down on the table. Mother purses her lips but says nothing. I know that she's disappointed though. I've let my thoughts get in the way of hunting and that's a big no-no in our family.

"Where's Christina?" I ask, looking around. Normally the house is full of her laughter—unless she's at a friend's house or helping Father in the bakery. I stay away from there at all times. I'd rather hunt than frost cakes—though according to Dad, I'm not half-bad. Not as good as Christina though, and defiantly not as good as Dad.

"Detoxicing Haymitch," our mother tells me and then says no more. I make a face behind her back. She knows we both hate Haymitch—she does too! He's always drunk, and it's usually our job to make sure he's sober most of the time. That's a task that's easier said than done.

"Davis," my mother says with her back to me, "make sure your nice clothes are clean."

"Why?" I ask. The only time I have to wear my nice clothes was at the last award ceremony at the Justice Building. An explosion in the mines had killed five miners when that ceremony happened.

"Just do it!" my mother snaps and I scurry to my room. Now I may not be afraid of much, but I am afraid of my mother at some times. One doesn't win the Hunger Games without being a little scary. My nice clothes aren't much, but they're decent.

"What's with everyone today?" I mutter as I laid them out and then looked around my room. It's normal, as far as boys' rooms go. Except for the mural Dad painted on my wall under the window when I was five. It's a Mockingjay fluttering into the sunset, with a small boy—who looks just like me—flying on its back.

Dinner is tense, for once. Christina hates it when it's her duty to detoxify Haymitch, so she's mainly eating her squirrel. Our parents aren't eating a thing and I'm just not hungry. Mother sends us to bed soon after dinner.

"Going to eavesdrop?" Christina glares at me while I lean on the wall over the phone. For being the houses of Victors and their families, the walls are thin as can be; which is how I've been able to gain all the information that I know. I've learned more from eavesdropping than I have in school.

"What? You want to know what's going on just as much as I do!" I hiss while brushing my hair out of the way of my ear.

"We'll find out in the morning," Christina turned on her heal and almost slammed her door in anger. She can be a tad touchy about rules at times.

"How am I related to her?" I muttered as I strain to hear any words from downstairs. Mother and Father usually talk late at night, when they think the two of us have gone to bed. The thing is though; I'm a night owl. I can never sleep at night. My sister is a morning person though.

"Davis," I hear my sister hiss and open my eyes. Apparently, I fell asleep at my vigil.

"Thanks sis," I whisper as I rub my eyes.

"Take a bath and get dressed," she mouthed. "Mom and Dad are at it again. We'd best get ready for whatever they or the Capitol throw at us."

It's then that I see that my little sister is wearing a light blue shirt and a skirt that I knew she didn't own yesterday. Her hair was pulled back and shoved into a messy bun.

My bath is quick and unenjoyed. I despise sitting in one place for too long, except in the bath. It's truly the one place I can think. It is a shame that it should have to be ruined on such a hectic day.

"Davis, Christina!" our mother called just as I roll up my shirt cuffs. I hate dressing up for anything. It's just a way for society to get their claws into you—if they haven't already. Panem isn't exactly _friendly_ to the idea of equality, if you know what I mean.

"Coming mom!" I shout back and tied my shoes. Brushing my hair out of my eyes one last time, I walk downstairs and watch my sister's actions as she sat on the couch. Had she learned something while I was getting ready?

"We'd best be going," my father sighed and locked the house after we leave. My heart clenches at that. Dad never locks the door, even when at work. We never know when someone could need help—according to dad. Haymitch thinks it's dumb (the only thing I agree with him on).

"Where are we going mom?" I asked after a while of walking but then I see it. A crowd of people outside the Justice Building. My mother give my sister and me a hug before she and my father go on stage with Haymitch. Someone leads my sister away to the front, while I'm directed to the back. Someone states something on stage, but I'm not even paying attention until I hear the words "victors" and "arena".

"What!"

I know that voice. Everyone in District Twelve knows that voice. That voice belongs to my mother.

"Ladies first," a woman with bright blue hair says with a smile. _Who could enjoy this_? I think as she fishes through a bowl near her. "First, the victors I believe. For the women….Katniss Mellark!"

No one applauds, something, which startles the woman on stage. What did she expect? Cheering?

"For the males….Peeta Mellark!"

_Oh God, please let it be over, _I can't help but think. But the knot in my stomach won't go away. The blue haired woman has yet another bowl, and I can't help but wonder who the bastard in the Capitol brought this back.

"For the new tributes," the woman states with a smile, "for the ladies, we have…."

My eyes seek out my sister, and I keep them locked on her. I don't want her to be involved in this. Even if I don't know what _this_ is.

"Christina Mellark!"

My heart stops, and I watch my sister take the stage. The only thing I can think is that I hope the name that comes out of the next drawing is my own.

"For the males….."

My fingers are crossed, hoping beyond hope that my name gets picked.

"Davis Mellark! Why, isn't this interesting! An entire family for the Hunger Games."

I walk to the stage and lock eyes with my sister. Without speaking, we both agree that we'd look out for each other—along with Mother and Father. We would win this thing, if it was the last thing we did.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A/N: I only own the names of characters you the reader do not recognize.

I, along with the rest of my family, was led into the rickety old justice building. I always hated this building, though I didn't know why.

"Davis," Christina whispered. "What's going on?"

I didn't know until George walked in. Mom and Dad had friends of their own and so I guessed it was part of the Games.

"Hey bud," George smiled but one could tell it was forced. "Who's going to help me torment my siblings?"

I chuckled at that. George had a way of defusing the tension. Just another characteristic that made him that much more…desirable, I guess was the right word. He'd make a girl lucky when he got a little older.

"Try to win," he told me in a whisper. I couldn't help but tense at that. Whether due to the idea of winning or the fact that George asked me to, I'll never know because he left at that moment.

Christina hugged her friend whom she was talking to and I watched her leave as well. A knot grew in my stomach as I realized that we might not see these people again.

_No, the Capitol wouldn't do that,_ I thought and shook away the negative feelings. It was just nerves.

"Time to get on the train," I hear my mother tell us and for once her voice isn't confident and smooth but weak and shaky. Christina and I glance at each other and do as she says without arguing. There are cameras everywhere and while I'm giving them a blank look, Christina's acting like this is the time of her life.

_She always does enjoy a crowd,_ I thought bemusedly. Our mother is giving all the cameramen death glares and once again she proves she is the scariest woman on the planet.

"Thank god," our father sighs once the train door closes. "Brings back memories of the Quarter Quell and our first Games."

"Genuine or fake?" our mother asks him and I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Our father never spoke of fake memories before.

"Real," our father smiles at our mother but then groans. "Got to sit down. The old leg can't take much more of this."

Leg problems too? I wonder how our father is going to make it out of this alive if he's suffering so much.

"Haymitch," our mother greets the man with a smirk. "Seems like it's up to you to make sure we stay alive again. Up to the challenge?"

"Only if you do as you're told," Haymitch tells her in a gruff voice. "The boy too. Your daughter thankfully can take direction."

"Hey!" our mother and I gripe but no one listens. The blue haired woman leads us all onto a couch in front of a television—to see who our competition is. I'm not paying attention to them; I'm paying attention to my parents instead. They don't show any reaction until District Two, when a fairly attractive boy with wavy black hair was selected.

"Hawthorne," our mother gasps and her hand flies to her mouth. "Gale!"

Our father puts an arm around our mother in comfort, while Christina watches the television. She hates seeing our mother in pain just as much as I do. The tributes don't warrant another reaction until we get to District Four.

"Annie," our mother gasps again, and our father has a harden look in his eyes. When a young boy graces the stage, our father speaks. "Look Katniss, doesn't he look just like Finnick?"

"Except for the hair," our mother says with a shaky chuckle. "That's defiantly Annie's hair."

I turn back to the television, not even noticing when my mother gasps at the older District Seven tribute or how she looks away at the new District Eleven girl tribute.

"That's everyone!" the blue haired woman states in her annoying cheerful voice. "Why don't you go and freshen up before we arrive at the capitol?"

"That's not a bad idea," Haymitch nods, and I'm more inclined to do it if he's advocating it. I can't stand this woman, being all cheerful while I have to go and fight my own family?

I walk to a compartment and grab my father's arm as I do so. My father isn't that hard to dig information out of. All you have to do is beg just the right amount.

"What is all this?" I ask. "What was the Rebellion and why is Mom acting the way she is?"

Dad looks nervous, which is usually a good sign that I'm close to getting information out of him. Like I said, he's not a hard nut to crack.

"How'd you find out about that?" he asks, a raised eyebrow gracing his face. "Eavesdropping again Davis Thresh Mellark?"

Oooh the full name. Dad hasn't pulled that out since I was five and didn't want to go to the bakery with him.

"Maybe," I shrug. "But what's the deal Dad? I mean, it's not like they could kill us."

My father doesn't answer. A knot rebuilds in my stomach and I just want to pass out.

"Could they?" I try again, slight panic building in my voice. I didn't want to think of having to kill anyone. I just wanted my family to stay alive. I didn't even notice my father getting to my level until I feel his hand on my shoulder.

"Davis," he says in his calming voice that makes me feel safe and at home, "the Hunger Games are a way for the Capitol to show they still have control."

"Control of what?" I ask. My father glances over his shoulder before answering and I can't help but wonder why.

"The districts," he states. "The Rebellion is something your mother and I fought in when we were about eighteen or so. It was successful and peace was brought to the land until the elections after your birth. That's when things started to go back to the way they used to be before the rebellion."

"Why didn't you stop it?" I asked. My father chuckles at my indignation.

"So much like your mother," he sighs. "It happened gradually, so slowly that we didn't notice it until yesterday when it was announced that the Hunger Games would be brought back."

I nod, to show that I understand. It's not that hard to understand actually, once someone actually takes the time to explain and not just over react like mother did.

"Your mother is acting the way she is because she doesn't want you or your sister to die," my father states and I completely understand now. I would have to fight to the death, and yet somehow keep myself from seeing my entire family die.

"Go freshen up," my father lightly shoves me out the door and I can't help but chuckle. My idea of freshening up is different than my sister's or my mother's. I make do with just throwing water on my face and then wiping it off with my hands.

"Is that all you're going to do?" Christina asks as she leaves the bathroom. Mother has fixed her hair so she no longer looks like she has a bird's nest living on top of her head.

"I'm a guy," I shrug and she sticks out her tongue at me. Suddenly, we're hit with a bright light and I can't help but join my sister as we look at the Capitol for the first time. It's so bright, unlike Twelve. I can't help but think about the people who must live here.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" the blue haired woman is back. "Haymitch, give some advice to your tributes before they face the arena won't you?"

Haymitch glares at the woman as she leaves once more and I find myself liking the old man more and more. Clearing his throat, Haymitch has one piece of advice. "Stay alive."

"Easier said than done," my father states in a grim voice. "Haymitch, we're dealing with both friends and unknowns."

"You think I don't know that?" Haymitch asks, and for once he almost seems worried. "Fine Peeta, you want some advice? Let your wife handle the dirty work and you stay out of the way."

"Very funny," my father glares at the older man but I think it's very good advice. Father has leg troubles, and memory problems. Mother doesn't—at least not to my knowledge.

"Haymitch," my mother now has a glare on her face as well, "Annie is in this as well. I'm not going to kill her."

"It's kill or be killed, sweetheart," Haymitch corrects her. "The Capitol doesn't care about your morals. They just want a show."

He then turns to Christina and me, and I hold in a gulp. I know I'm shorter than the average sixteen year old, which puts me at a disadvantage if there was to be any hand-to-hand combat. Give me a weapon of any kind, though, and watch out.

"Your kids," he turns back to my mother, "how well will they handle their first time in the arena? Have you trained them at all?"

"We didn't think they'd bring the Games back," my mother states in a soft voice.

"Well that was stupid!" Haymitch roars and again I agree with him. "They'll be the first ones the Career Tributes go for and you know it."

"That's enough!" my father bursts into the argument. "Katniss, they'll have time to train. We'll make sure they stay near us in the arena."

I stand off to the side, slightly amused but mainly frightened. I've never seen my mother go at it with Haymitch before, and the idea that I might have to kill her to stay alive keeps going through my head.

"Why don't we worry about getting you sponsors?" Haymitch throws out there, and my mother nods.

"What are sponsors?" Christina asks as she brushes a strand of blond hair out of her eyes.

"Sponsors are your key to winning," Haymitch tells her. "It's life or death out there and the Sponsors can decide the difference. Let's hope you've got your father's charisma."

I roll my eyes but know out of the two of us, Christina's got the better shot of getting sponsors. _Good. That will make sure she stays alive,_ I can't help but think. Let's make sure the better Mellark child goes back to Twelve alive.

"Let the Games begin," my mother states in a grave voice as the train stops.

"You're just not looking forward to going back into the styling room are you?" my father teases and for one moment, all feels right. Almost as if we were at home, instead of on a train leading us to our death.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

A/N: I only own my OC's. Anything else belongs to the author of the Hunger Games.

I inwardly grimaced as the prep team searched every inch of me, looking for flaws to address. They were freaky looking; one even had whiskers.

"I can't believe the Games are back!" one exclaimed, not even trying to hide her excitement. "I wonder how many will survive the first day."

"Hush," the lead member of my prep team told the girl and motioned to me. "He looks ill. Don't want him throwing up over Sheake, so hold your tongue."

Thank goodness for someone with sense! Though I didn't like the fact that I looked ill. I didn't want to seem weak in any shape or form. I got up as my father walked up to me.

"You're lucky," he told me. "Your sister and mother have it worse."

"Really?" I asked, wondering how it could be worse than it already was but deciding I didn't want to know. It was better I didn't know.

"Here's hoping we don't end up naked," my father muttered and I can't help but stare. Sure, I was confident enough as much as the next male, but I didn't want to walk around naked!

"Don't worry," one of my prep team apparently heard. "Sheake will make you both look fabulous!"

Father sighed, and I wondered what had happened to his stylist from his first time at the Games.

"There was a bombing of the Capitol during the Rebellion," my father told me in hushed tones—not wanting the prep team to over hear. It was as if he could read my mind. "She was caught up in it. I never found out if she survived."

I couldn't help but gasp at that, thinking it would be a horrible and painful way to die. If I was to die at sixteen, I hope it would be painless. At least that way I wouldn't suffer. I didn't mention this to my father though. I didn't want him to think I'd find a way to lose.

The door opens and the stylist walks in. He's shorter than I am, which makes me feel a little better about my height. He looks normal compared to the prep team, which makes me like him even more.

"Hello," he smiles at the both of us. "You know, it's clear to me that you are father and son. You share many features."

I look over at my father, studying him a bit. While it was true we shared the same eyes, I didn't really think we shared anything else. I was always called my mother's son, and Christina was always known as the Daddy's Girl.

"You're new here," my father says, and the way he states it, it's clear it's not a question.

"First year," Sheake says with a smile. "I requested Twelve."

"Why?" I can't help but ask.

"First Year designers always get Twelve," my father answers before Sheake does. "We're not the most fought after district."

"True, it will be hard to beat your outfits in the 74th Hunger Games," Sheake says with a smile. My father doesn't, and therefore I don't either. I don't want to think about the Games anymore than I have to.

"How do you feel about Mockingjays?" my stylist asks and I can't help but inwardly groan. The groan was well deserved as I sit in the carriage that will take us through the opening ceremonies with my parents and my sister. We're all dressed as Mockingjays.

"I might commit murder," my sister, the most non-violent person one could meet, mutters to me. "We look ridiculous. How are we going to get sponsors now?"

I shrug. We all look like we're going to murder someone, so the idea of sponsors is slim.

"You don't think this is the Capitol getting revenge on us for our act in the 74th Hunger Games?" I hear our mother ask our father.

"I think it's a first timer's mistake," our father tells her. "Though we'd be better off stark naked and covered in coal dust."

I watched as District One strolls past, covered in luxury items. The boy from District Two, the one with wavy black hair, is dressed in a form fitting white outfit. One that shows off every muscle on his chest. I had to fight myself not to drool as I see him. The girl he's with looks nice, but has nothing on him. I don't even notice any of the other tributes.

"The District Twelve tributes," a mysterious voice rings out and our carriage starts to move. We don't even look out our windows to look at the people in the crowd. I wonder about their sanity, those out cheering for us. Don't they know we look like Mockingjays?

"Why didn't you wave?" the blue haired woman asks as we leave our carriage. I still haven't learned her name yet, and I've decided I'm only going to do so if I win.

"We look ridiculous," my mother points out and Haymitch can't hold his chuckles any longer.

"You can say that again," he snorts though his laughter. "But your reputation as The Girl on Fire should help you out in the long run—or in this case, your children."

"Gale has a good looking kid, speaking of children," my father mutters to my mother, and she nods. I hope I wasn't obvious in my staring—though hopefully my parents will take it as a study of the competition and not anything else.

"Is he here?" my mother asks and Haymitch shakes his head.

"Sorry sweetheart, only Victors and new Tributes allowed in these Hunger Games," he states. "Hey, at least he's safe from the arena."

"His son's not though," Father points out. I can't help but think that with muscles like those, he won't be in much danger. I on the other hand will be. I'm shorter than the average sixteen-year-old, and have limited knowledge of the Games, besides what they teach us in school. We're led up to our rooms on the Twelfth floor and I promptly fall asleep on the first bed I see.

"It's a busy, busy day!" the blue haired woman wakes me up a few hours later. Groaning, I strip myself of the Mockingjay outfit and shower. Then I put on a snug jumpsuit that was laid out for me. Christina's wearing the same one, I notice, as I walk out into the main area.

"Training starts now," Haymitch tells us with his gruff voice. "Katniss, Peeta, do whatever you want to. You're older, and you've gone through the Games before."

"So have half of the tributes though," my mother can't help but frown. Haymitch waves her off.

"You, boy," Haymitch points to me. "What are you good at?"

"Archery," I say instantly, earning a chuckle from the older man. It's the first time I've ever seen him do something so human. It's almost creepy.

"You said you didn't train them sweetheart," he turns to my mother. "Why is he so good at archery then?"

"I trained him to hunt when he was eight," my mother states, glaring at Haymitch. "Anything could have happened to Peeta or myself; I didn't want him or his sister to starve."

"What of the girl?" Haymitch asks her. "Did you train her too in the art of hunting?"

"I'm good at painting," Christina pipes up and I can't help but roll my eyes. Yes she is amazing at painting but that won't help her in a life or death situation.

"Camouflage," Haymitch says after a while. "Now, don't show your strengths to your competitors. Improve your weaknesses. Make allies."

He sends us down to the training area, and I can't help but stare. Stations of every kind are sitting, just waiting to be explored. My mother's already over at the archery station and everyone freezes as she lets off an arrow.

"Still got it?" a brunette woman walks up to her. She doesn't smile.

"Hey Johanna," my mother doesn't smile either but she does seem friendly with her. "It's been a while."

"Shame this couldn't have been under better circumstances," my father walks up. I realize then that I'm eavesdropping again. Turning around, I walk smack dab into the boy from District Two.

"S-S-S-Sorry," I stammer out an apology. It's then I realize, the boy is taller than average. Great, so he's built and he's tall? I'm screwed.

"It's fine," he says with a smile. I realize again that I've made myself seem weak with the stammer. "Caleb Hawthorne. What's your name?"

"Davis Mellark," I say, lucky enough not to stutter. He frowns at my last name and then walks off.

"Well that was rude," my sister points out as she walks up. "Really, he could have stayed around."

"We're not here to make friends," I tell her. "We're here to win."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," a boy with dark hair walks up to us. "Andy Odair, district Four. I was wondering if you perhaps wanted to be allies?"

Allies with the son of Finnick Odair? Meh, worse things have happened to me so far.

"Sure," I nod. The only reason I know who his father is, is through eavesdropping—just like all the information I've gathered in my short life. Honestly, my parents never really tell us anything. We make it though the few days of training easily enough, picking up more allies as we go. There's Claire Linter, one of the new tributes, from district Five. I've seen her with a spear and decided we're lucky to have her as an ally and not an enemy. Her twin, Luke, is more of a hand-to-hand combat type of guy. A boy from District Three, Warren Roach, approached us the second day.

"Is it normal to have this many allies?" my sister asks as we walk up to the room.

"I don't know," I tell her, but I don't like it. It just means that it's that many more people I have to keep alive, until I have to kill them. "Besides, mom and dad have allies too."

"But those are their friends," Christina shoots back. Sighing, I shrug and go into my room. It's only a few hours later that I'm woken up once more.

"It's the day of your scoring," the blue haired woman says with a grin. "Then it's the interview and then…. the arena! Oh, isn't this exciting?"

"No," I mutter under my breath. My body has never felt sorer in my entire life. How do the Careers deal with this day after day? Walking down to the gym, I'm led to a side room to wait until I'm called. I'm instantly bored.

"Davis Mellark," I hear my voice called after a few hours and then get up. Walking in, I see a group of men and women on a high balcony. I walk straight to the bow and arrows with a smirk. Testing the bow a few times with my left hand, I go for the target when I realize something.

_It's moving,_ I thought. A moving target eh? So that's how you want to play the game? I load my bow with an arrow, and then bring it back so my hand is almost to the corner of my smile.

_Both eyes open,_ I hear my mother's voice in my head and then….SNAP! The arrow is released and instantly penetrates the neck of the target. I can't help but look over at the balcony. I think one wet himself, judging by his pants.

"Thank you Mr. Mellark," one states with a shaky voice. "You may go."

I put the bow and arrows back and leave. I don't care about my score, and I didn't before that either. I'll get sponsors in my own way…or with Haymitch's help. Christina walks in and I wonder just what she did to impress those on the balcony.

It's a while before we get our scores. Most of the Victors are in the nine's and tens, with my mother being the only one to get an eleven. She shrugs it off.

"It's the same score I got in my last Games," she tells us. "That time I shot an arrow at the Game Makers."

I watch as the current tributes get their scores. Caleb got a nine, which I can't help but not be surprised. He's a District Two. They're not supposed to get nines. Warren received an eight, which surprises me.

"At least we've got a good one on our side," Christina mutters to me. "That will help balance out the fact that both the District One tributes got tens."

I nod, and then go back to watching the scores. All of our allies are in either the eights or the nines. But then, it's our turn.

"Like mother, like son," Haymitch says with a smirk as it's shown that I got an eleven as well.

"I just did archery," I protested. "I didn't do anything special, like shoot at the Game Makers!"

"Didn't you say one wet themselves?" Christina asks, who looks happy with her score of ten. I can't help but be worried now. Eleven will put me on the board of every person trying to win this thing.

"Best rest up," Haymitch tells us. "It's your interview tonight. That's the one thing that will guarantee you sponsors."

"So how will we shake up the Capitol this time Katniss?" my father asks with a smirk.

"I don't know Peeta," my mother chuckles. "It's not like we can pull off the star-crossed lovers bit again, or will I be pregnant again?"

My father rolls his eyes, but I watch them. They have no secrets with us, except for the Rebellion. I decide then that I'll tell them. At least I'll have told someone my secret before going to certain death.

"Go! Shelake is waiting!" the blue haired woman ushers us out and I miss my one chance to come out before the entire nation tunes into my life.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

A/N: I OWN ONLY MY OC'S. ANYTHIGN ELSE IS FROM THE HUNGER GAMES!

I hate interviews. Absolutely hate them. I have this rule. If I don't know the person, then I don't talk to them. Unfortunately, that doesn't apply to the Hunger Games. Damn them!

"You look fantastic!" the blue-haired woman gushes at Christina and myself, and I make sure that the stupid tie stops cutting off my circulation to my neck. Did I mention that I despise all things fancy now that I'm in the Hunger Games?

My mother brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes and smiles at my father. The two of them seem almost calm, despite being too close to being interviewed. The victors are interviewed first, and personally I don't pay attention. It's only when they start interviewing the new contestants that I actually pay close attention to what each person is saying, to try to find a weakness.

"Now, last but certainly not least, Davis Mellark!" the interviewer calls and I wonder just how long have I been lost in thought. Going out on stage is like going into a hot mine—just with more people looking at you. The interviewer is just like all the other people from the capitol—just less freaky.

"Now Davis," the interviewer begins, "what have you liked the most about being in the capitol?"

"Umm…the rolls?" I think quickly. The rolls were good, I'll give them that but they had nothing on my father.

"Like mother, like son," the interviewer states with a smile and I mentally roll my eyes. If I was like my mother, this would be a whole different interview. The time ticks by slowly until finally, he asks the last question.

"How do you feel about your family being in the arena with you?" he asks and I already know what I'm going to say.

"While it isn't the most ideal situation, I can at least make sure they don't get hurt." I answer. "Yes, I know eventually it will come down to only one, but I'd rather help out my family than watch helplessly on the sidelines."

It's then that I have my craziest idea ever. Turning to the crowd, I begin to speak.

"If any of you are sponsors, please spend your money on making sure my sister gets out of the arena alive. She's the one you should place your bets on."

"But Davis," the interviewer tells me, "you're the one with the eleven."

The time runs out at that and I hate myself for letting that pompous capitol stooge get the last word in. Going back to my family, I'm greeted with hugs from everyone.

"Did you mean that?" Christina asked. "About the sponsors going for me over you?"

"Every word Chrissie," I nod. "Every word."

0000

That night, I can't sleep. Knowing that I will be sent into an arena where I'll be forced to kill or be killed aren't exactly restful thoughts. That's how I found myself on the roof.

"You too?" I hear my father ask and turned around. Sure enough, there he was, walking up to me.

"Couldn't sleep," I admit with a shrug. "Dad, how many die on the first day?"

My father is silent for a few minutes before answering. "Usually ten, thirteen if it's a real bloodbath. But that's at the cornucopia. Listen to me Davis. Tomorrow, after the first minute is up, I want you and your sister to head to whatever shelter you can find."

"But what if there isn't any?"

"There will be," my father states. "They want their entertainment safe from the elements after all."

A little voice in my head nags at me to tell my father now, before it's too late. But I can't. To come out to my father during the worst night of my life is not how I ever pictured coming out at all.

"Try to get some sleep son," my father stands up. "You're not going to get much more in the coming days."

0000

The next day, I'm woken early by the blue-haired woman and told to dress. It's a simple black shirt and olive pants but it's better than anything the capitol has given me to dress so far.

"Good luck," Christina tells me as we walk to the hovercraft, which will transport us to the arena. She's wearing a light blue shirt and olive pants. "I hope we're the last two."

"I don't."

"Why?" she asks, and her look is so innocent that I can't bare to answer her question. But I must.

"Cause then we won't have mom or dad," I tell her as some random woman sticks a needle in my arm. Apparently, we're tracked. Great, as if that doesn't make me feel even more like cattle. The ride is smooth, but I can't shake the nervous feeling in my gut.

"May the odds be ever in your favor," Sheake tells me before I'm sent up a glass tube and I see the arena for the first time. It's a grassy field, with trees all around. Wait a second!

"The meadow," I whisper as the countdown begins. So that's how the Capitol wants us to play. Just as the final second beeps, I grab the nearest pack I can see, grab Christina and run as if our lives depended on it.

"What about our allies?" she asks when we stop for some air. "They're probably still back there."

I made to answer but a boom of a cannon stops me. I remember my father's words from the night before and hope that neither he nor my mother are part of the fallen.

"Let's keep moving," I tell Christina. "The more we move, the less likely we are to run into enemies."

"I'm not moving until we at least find Andy and Warren," Christina fights me. "They're important. What if they've gotten killed already?"

"Claire probably impaled whoever tried to do that with her spear by now," I shot back. "Look, Dad said to keep moving. He's done this before, I think he would know the best."

At the sound of our father's advice, Christina looks mollified and stops fighting me. Cannons go off constantly, and I can't help but wonder if one of the fallen is my mother or my father.

"Davis?" Christina stops for a moment. "What's in your pack? It might be important."

"Okay, we can stop for a minute," I interpret her words. Opening my pack, I find a water bottle—empty but it's better than nothing. Some dried fruit and a knife. Not exactly the haul I was hoping for, but it'll keep us alive for a few days.

"You got anything?" I ask as I put it back in the pack.

"You grabbed me before I could get anything," she tells me and I can't help but roll my eyes. As usual, it's my fault.

"Look, we should find some shelter," I tell her. "You remember that signal we made up when we were kids?"

"That four note whistle?"

"That's the one," I nod. "If any of our allies come near our shelter and one of us is gone, we can tell the other one the news."

"But what about enemies?" Christina asks.

"We'll probably be dead," I hitch the pack higher on my shoulders and turn around. Behind me, there's a nice looking cave. "You like camping, don't you sis?"

"Not as much as you do bro," she teases me right back. We set up camp in the cave, and I regret not grabbing a better weapon than the one I managed to get. However, I'm able to get a couple of squirrels and a rabbit.

"Dinner," I announce after a few hours. The sound of footsteps behind me causes me to tense, and Christina grabs the knife.

"God you two are jumpy," the familiar voice of Andy announces, and I turn to see his smirk. "Warren and Claire are right behind me."

"What about Luke?" Christina asks as she lowers the knife. Andy looks down.

"He didn't make it did he?" I state and Andy nods. I can only hope that I'm never put into Claire's place during the Games.

"So what weapons do we have?" Claire finally shows up. I show her the knife, which looks pathetic to her spear and Warren's sword.

"Were there any bows?" I have to ask, and Warren nods.

"Your mother got it though," Claire tells me. "Deadly shot her. You know she brought down about five tributes who were going after you two? Never missed and never took more than one arrow."

I whistle as I take in just what our mother had done. Christina has a look of shock on her face, as she can't process what our mother had done to keep us safe.

"How many left?" Andy asks as he sits down by the smoldering fire.

"Well, there are about ten of us dead," Claire said, "and maybe five Victors left. All the Career Victors are dead, that's all I know."

"My mom?"

"Our parents?"

Christina, Andy and I ask at the same time.

"We'll find out tonight," Warren states. As he says this, the sun starts to go down.

"Guess the Game Makers want the first day over and done with," Andy smirks. We all gather into the cave and pick our spots, trying to make sure we each have a buddy. I've got the first watch.

"Davis?" Christina calls my name wearily a few hours later. I had already watched the names of the dead fly by in the sky, and was relieved that I still had parents—and that Caleb was still alive.

"Yeah Christina?"

"I had a bad dream," she told me, in a tone of voice that made it seem that she was a bad person because of her inability to sleep.

"Hey, come here," I pull her close to me. Sure, we'll have our problems and our spats, but we're family and we have to stick together in this. As we sit like this, a song my mother used to sing to me when I was younger comes to the forfront of my mind.

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_

_And when again they open, the sun will rise._

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you._

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_

_A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray_

_Forget your woes and let your troubles lay_

_And when again it's morning, they'll wash away._

Before I have a chance to finish the song, Christina is lying against me, sleeping soundly.

"Sleep well little sis," I smile at her and then turn back to the sky. "Be safe mom and dad."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

A/N: I OWN NOTHING!

I woke up to the sound of the anthem and my sister's head on my shoulder. Thankfully, no one had died in the night.

"Claire," I hissed to her. "Let me borrow your spear."

"Why?" she hissed back, Andy leaning on her shoulder in the same fashion as Christina was leaning on mine.

"Someone has to go and get food," I shrugged, and took caution not to move Christina. Sleep was important…. especially now. Claire looked like she was going to argue, but one look from Warren who was waking up stopped it.

"It's by the front," Warren motioned and got up to take my spot so Christina wouldn't notice my absence. "Make it back as soon as you can."

I nodded and took the spear, and then moved further into the woods. I tried to stay in sight of the cave, but it was difficult. Prey didn't linger at the edge of the woods at home; I didn't see why they would here.

"Damn," I hissed when I missed yet another rabbit. It's the smell of smoke that catches my attention. I'm near a campfire…and I pray that it's not a career.

"So have you found him?" I hear a voice and a fist clenches my stomach. It's the careers. They're not five feet from me, and they're looking for someone. I only pray it's not me.

_You've got the element of surprise,_ a nasty voice in my head thinks. _Take them out now and take their weapons. _

I shook my head. I didn't know how many of them there were or what weapons they have. Moving away slowly, I gave myself about five feet before I started running back to the cave.

"Hey, where's the food?" Christina asks, having woken up and been informed of the situation. I can't tell her. Can't tell her that I was driven away like the prey I was previously hunting.

"Couldn't find any," I responded gruffly. I hand the spear back to Claire, and went into the cave. I sat down and put my head in my hands. I didn't speak; I didn't trust my self to. This was just insane.

Later that day, Claire went out and gathered some berries, meat and other editable plants.

"So what happened?" Andy sat down next to me. I'd been off on my own for the most of the day. "The pressure of being a Victor's kid finally get to you?"

"What do you mean?" I snap. I usually don't like company when I'm brooding but my display of distemper doesn't phase Andy's good mood in the slightest. He's still grinning like an idiot.

"The food," is all he has to say and I sighed.

"I almost ran into a camp full of District One's and Two's," I muttered, trying to keep my voice low so Christina doesn't hear. "I didn't want to stay out there in case they found me."

"Smart," Andy nodded after a moment of shock. "We don't want one of the best put out of action."

"No I'm not," I shook my head. "If I was good, I'd have caught something. Man, if only I'd grabbed that bow!"

Andy chuckles and messes up my hair. "Beating yourself up isn't going to help you win the competition. Staying focused will."

Batting his hand away, I chuckled but then stopped. "Andy, what did you mean by the pressure of being a Victor's kid?"

He looks at me as if I'd professed an undying love for him, which despite his dark blonde hair and chiseled pectorals, he's not really my type. Besides, even if he was, I've seen the looks he's been shooting Claire and I'm not going to waste my time chasing after someone who's on the other team.

"You've never had people say to you that you'd better win? That your parents did so now it's all up to you?" he asks.

"No," I told him. "In fact, we're not taught much about the Games, only the usual stuff."

It might be time to learn something that I never knew before. Andy looks at me nervously, a sure sign that someone's about to give information.

"Meet me outside the cave. Tonight. Alone," he tells me. "I'll fill in the gaps of your education."

Oh this was going to be fun.

000

I HATE THE CAPITOL! Oh, was that too loud? Well, I don't really care right now. Right as I'm about to learn something about my parents' past, the stupid forest decides to catch on fire and we're all running for our lives.

"Davis!" my sister shouts, clutching her leg. Remember when I said she was tall for her age and I was short for mine? Well that didn't matter at that moment as I threw her over my shoulder and ran for dear life.

"You okay?" I ask as we arrive in a safe area. Andy's face was covered in ash and shoot while Claire's hair seemed singed. Warren was the only one who looked injured with a big nasty bruise on his arm that looks as if it came from a stick. I examine my sister's leg, thankfully avoiding any potential injured areas. Thankfully, it just seems as if she rolled her ankle but I'd rather my mother was here to know for sure.

"Well?" Christina asks.

"Rolled ankle, though I'm not Mom."

Christina grins at me and I can't help but grin back. My sister knows how to make me smile during times I'd never think to.

"What about you?" she asks and I raise an eyebrow. She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean Davis. Any injuries?"

"Nope," I reply and toss my water bottle to Andy. "Dude, wash your face."

"Thanks," Andy catches the water bottle, splashes some water on to his face and then throws it back. "Anyone know how that fire started?"

"No, but I think the Capitol got what they wanted," Claire states in a bitter voice, pointing to the sky. An image of the District Seven tribute, who was with mother and father, graces the sky only to be quickly replaced with an image of the District eleven male tribute from our generation.

"No one was dying quick enough," Warren mutters grimly. "I'd hate to see how they react if the stalemate keeps going like this."

They all shudder, except for Christina and myself. We look at each other in fear. What if that fire hurt our parents? They could still die!

000

I learned the danger of the Hunger Games a few days after that fire broke out. I was alone, with just the spear to try to collect food, when suddenly I found myself dangling upside down.

"Caught in a trap?" a non-hostile voice asks and I try to spin myself to see who it is. Meanwhile I'm beating myself up for not noticing the rope.

"You're a hunter?" I ask, giving up on the spinning.

"How'd you know?" the voice seems impressed. Though he shouldn't be, had I known I wouldn't have gotten caught.

"Anyone else wouldn't trap their opponents so high off the ground," I told the voice. There was a lump in my pocket. What was it? Feeling for it, and thanking what ever made it possible for it to withstand gravity, I pulled it out and found it was the knife from my pack.

"Well, you know you're in a vulnerable position," the voice pointed out. It was getting closer. I knew I only had seconds to get the rope cut. Remember kids, don't try this at home. Sawing at the rope, I kept an ear out for footsteps.

"GAH!" I let a scream escape my lips as I fell and groaned as the ground broke my fall. Luckily nothing cracked; otherwise I'd be really in trouble. Getting up I found myself face to face to Caleb Hawthorne.

"You alright?" he asked, looking almost concerned. Why would he though? The more people who get injured, the more he can kill off and get that much closer to winning this thing.

"I'm fine," I sad coolly. He wasn't my friend, he wasn't my ally. Caleb Hawthorn was my enemy.

"Oh," Caleb looked surprised. "When Sparkle had me put that trap up, it was supposed to hang the person so high in the air that if they got out they'd break something."

"My mom taught me how to fall," I said, proud of my mother. "She also taught me about snare traps."

Caleb nods and then to my surprise he leaves, heading back into the forest. I'm still alive. I had a run in with a non-ally and he left me alive. What did that mean?

"Davis!" Christina greets me as I return to camp but her grin fades as she sees the dirt and twigs in my hair. "You're hurt."

"Not really," I told her. "Just got into a run in with a trap."

"And the ground," Claire looks concerned as well. "Christina, look him over. I'll go back into the forest to look for food."

"But Davis just did that," Andy frowns from his spot by the cave. His hair is partially in his eyes and I can tell he's just as worried about his mother as Christina and I are about our parents.

"Another shot won't hurt," Claire states and takes the spear from me. She walks into the forest but not three minutes later we hear a cannon go off.

"You don't think?" Warren asks but no one responds. We all take off to where Claire had been going and skid to a stop upon seeing her body. Her neck is broken and her ankle is caught in the same trap as I'd previously been in.

"Cut her down," Andy states and borrows my knife to do so. "If the capitol is going to claim her body, they'll do it with her on the ground. Not caught like some prey."

Andy looks pissed. I'm worried that he'll do something stupid, though unrequited love was probably almost as bad as love that was never announced. I look at Claire and I can see a glimmer of a smile on her face.

"She's with her brother now," Christina states quietly as I point it out to her. "Any sibling would be happy about that.


End file.
